Reflecting on the 2026 World Cup

That's a wrap! Spain just won the 2026 World Cup.

Soccer has a special place in my heart. It is the first (and primary) sport I played on an organized team. It is the only sport I have ever refereed (I've officiated games in two countries and two spurts—in the late '90s and late '00s). I love it . . . and there are parts I can't stand about it. All the emotions come to the fore every four years during the World Cup. 

The 2026 World Cup is now in the books; 48 teams played 104 games in 16 host cities, most of which were in the USA. I watched more of this Cup than any other . . . and I have some opinions. But first, the group stage and knockout brackets.

The Group Stage

The groups; image from here

The 48 teams (expanded this year from the normal 32) in this World Cup were organized into 12 four-team groups (see above image). Each team played against all others in their respective group. Draws were fine. By points, the top two teams from each group (and the third-place team in eight of them) advanced to the knockout stage.

The Knockout Stage

The knockout stage; image from here

In prior years, the knockout stage featured the top 16 teams, but since this year's tournament expanded the field to 48 teams, the first round of knockouts was the round of 32. 

On to my likes/dislikes.

Likes

• The kit. All national teams change their kit every couple years (2 or 4, I don't remember and I think it depends anyway). It's always fun seeing what a given country is wearing, from the expected (like Argentine stripes or Croatian checkers), to bold new designs, to homages to classic jerseys of decades past. Eight examples below . . . note the subtle details some feature. Norway's was a particular favorite this year. This ESPN article shows and ranks all the kit.

• The team names. National team nicknames can be basic, straightforward . . . or hilarious. You can see a complete list here; my favorites are the Socceroos (Australia), The Selection (Argentina), The Team (Germany), The Three Lions (England), Orange (Netherlands), The Tartan Army (Scotland), The Canal Men (Panama), The Pharoahs (Egypt), and The Chivalrous Ones (Jordan).
• The camaraderie. Soccer is the world's sport. Fans come together for love of country and/or love of the game. It's fun to watch that play out. This year, to list a few examples, the Scottish fans drank Boston out of beer, the Norwegian fans had a viking 'row' routine, and the Japanese cleaned up stadiums. 
• The skills. There is no denying the technical skill of players on the pitch. My favorite are one-touch passing sequences, sometimes involving no-look passes or step-overs. But the strength and accuracy of the passes/shots, the goalie acrobatics, the timing to avoid offsides . . . it is all impressive.
• The tension. Is soccer the only sport whose game end is up to the referee? There are two 45-minute halves, but each has stoppage time, a discretionary number that ranges from 1 to 9 minutes of added play to account for the fake injuries (see below) and other delays. But even that number (made public at the start of stoppage time) in only a guide, and stoppage time can have its own delays that adds more time, meaning they play until the ref decides to stop. It makes for nail-biting uncertainty in close games.
• Cape Verde. This year's sweetheart was Cape Verde; the island nation drew with Spain, made it to the knockout round and took Argentina into extra time. Incredible performance from such a small nation. You can view their highlights vs. Argentina here.
• Select players. Erling Haaland (Norway), Jude Bellingham (England), Lionel Messi (Argentina), Vozinha (Cape Verde), Folarin Balogun (America), and Marc Cucurella (Spain) are a few of the players who stood out to me this World Cup. This is a team game, but individual talent shines through.

Dislikes

• The low scores. Let's be honest . . . in any sport, we like scoring. In soccer, goals are scarce . . . and it can be a yawn-fest (unless both teams are pressing and just failing to finish). England vs. France in the consolation game (a 6-4 thriller) shows how much more exciting this game can be when both teams commit to the attack. Consider:
• In this WC, there were 308 goals in 104 games, about 3 scores per game.
• 120 goals came in 21 of the games, meaning 188 came in the remaining 83 contests; just over 2 goals per contest. 
• By comparison, other popular sports score more often. The NHL (6 goals per game), MLB (9 runs per game), and football (45 points per game, divided by 7 = 6.4 scores per game) blow soccer out of the water in this category.
• Turtling. Some teams 'turtle' (hunker down and play defense) from the start or if they go up. This is effectively giving up goal-scoring opportunities and hoping that playing your entire team on defense will deny goals to your opponent. It doesn't always work (see England or Egypt vs. Argentina this year), and it is annoying to watch.
• Flopping. Soccer is a unique sport in that theatrics pay off. When a player is brushed, lightly touched, or looked at, the average soccer player falls over, rolls around wildly and grabs a body part (generally, the ankle or head) writhing in pain. Everyone else on the field throws up their hands and looks at the official, clearly expecting a foul will be called on the other team. If it is, 'great.' If it isn't, the nearly-dead player just hops up and starts playing again. Or they keep rolling around if they want to really sell it (and/or just give everyone on the field a break as the ref whistles in an ambulance or whatever). Then they hop up later. To top it off, announcers buy into it completely. They analyze the play, see a player fall over for basically no reason, and fawn over them, bemoaning the 'injury.' Sheeeeeeesh.
• Games ending in penalty kicks. What a terrible way to end any game. But in the knockout stages, this is the way draws are resolved (after an extra period of play). Penalties decided four games in this Cup. One of them went against Germany. Not that I'm bitter.*
• Draws. In this World Cup, 25 games ended in draws. I'm indifferent to those. I guess.
• Certain fouls. Maybe the rules have changed since I was refereeing**, but I was shocked at some of the fouls that got red cards in this tournament. Players both going for the ball . . . a foot comes down in the wrong spot and the player is sent off. Ridiculous in my mind. Related: I don't know how many goals were disallowed due to questionable fouls, but it felt like the refs looked for reasons to keep the scoring down.
• Delays in calling fouls. When I was refereeing, the only time you didn't call a foul upon recognition is when the fouled team had the ball and advantage (in which case you allowed them to play on). In this tournament, apparently, you can call fouls when:
• it happened a half-minute earlier (offsides calls were notorious for this)
• it happened on the other side of the pitch, minutes earlier
• it happened on the other side of the world, days earlier
• Team USA (vs. Belgium). For whatever reason, the USA just cannot master men's soccer.
• The common hairstyle. AI tells me that this "textured crop with a mid-fade is one of the most popular men's hairstyles, combining short, choppy layers on top with clean, faded sides." Alex Baena (below) showcases the look. Many other players did in this Cup. I wasn't a fan; echoes of mullet.

Alex Baena (Spain)

Jury's Still Out

• The expanded format. Increasing the teams by 50%? More teams can be thrilling (see Cape Verde above); it can also mean more 'chaff' can get in, diluting the talent level and making for embarrassing blowouts.
• VAR. This year they used a team of Video Assistant Referees (VAR). In certain cases, the on-field ref could appeal to VAR (and review the footage himself) to determine if any calls needed to be adjusted. I'm of mixed mind here . . . on the one hand, every ref wants to get it right, and if video can aid that, why not? On the other, several VAR episodes this WC caused only drama (going from 'no foul' to 'red card' is a bit much to me). I think this is best used for offsides or offenses that happened away from a referee's vision vs. things he sees and calls on the field.

Final Thoughts

The fact that I watched so much indicates where my heart lies—I love this game. It was delightful to see it on U.S. soil (and thus at reasonable times), I'm glad the games were largely broadcast over the air so I could enjoy them, and the likes listed above outweighed my dislikes. It was fun to see the world come together and celebrate. Until next time, world. See you in four years.

*I am. But I concede that the Germans didn't deserve to win.

**They didn't. I checked. Okay, they did, but not in ways relevant to my point.

A Declaration Worthy of Reflection

The Bennington Flag. Image from here

Happy 250th Birthday, America!

On July 4th, 1776, the Second Continental Congress adopted the revised Declaration of Independence, making today our nation's birthday. (Side note: they voted for independence on July 2nd, but then spent two days revising wording of the Declaration, finally approving it on July 4th.)

You can (and should) read a transcript of the Declaration of Independence here. Here is my summary:

First paragraph: When a people need to dissolve political ties, they should explain why.

Second: I'll quote the first half as it is the most famous:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government . . .

Governments shouldn't be dissolved for just any reason, but the King of Great Britain is terrible and we need a change.

List: It then lists 27 reasons why the King is terrible.*

Third: We've presented our grievances repeatedly and humbly, but we get only more injury in return. A person who acts like this is a tyrant and unfit to rule.**

Fourth: We told the British people, too, but they also ignored us. We thus must separate and "hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends."

Fifth: We thus declare "That these United Colonies are . . . Free and Independent States . . ." 

Signatures: It is signed by 56 people from across the 13 colonies. Pennsylvania has the most representation (9) and is thus the best state.***

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On our birthday, I'd like to point out a few things: 

1) "We hold these truths to be self-evident . . ."

Our nation, like everything in our lives, is built on faith. On something you cannot prove, but a set of underlying assumptions you operate out of. (Recent books reviewed here talk more about this—see this book by Glenn Sunshine and this one by James K.A. Smith for more.) What were our founding fathers' assumptions? What are ours today? How have they changed? Why does it matter? Worthy questions for reflection.

2) How can we best enjoy (and leverage) our liberty? What does the Bible say about freedom? How are Biblical notions of freedom the same or different? How then should we live? (1 Peter 2:13-17 and Galatians 5:1-15 are good starting points.)

3) Enjoy and reflect on the truth in the below picture (from Etsy).

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*All related to governing America poorly; it doesn't get into personal factors like hygiene, though I suspect (given the realities of the age) that it would have been fair to include.

**Yes, we mean you, King.

***Go Birds

You Know You're Dutch, When . . . (Colleen Geske)

You Know You're Dutch, When . . . provides a humorous look at the foibles of Dutch culture.  Most statements come with a picture and accompanying explanation for foreigners.  Through this, I learned things I never knew (despite several visits to the country), to include:
- Dutch love putting chocolate sprinkles on bread [and I can now verify it is indeed tasty]
- They congratulate everyone in the family at a birthday party (not just the birthday boy/girl)
- They swear using ancient disease ("Typhoid on you!")

I was interesting, amusing, and insightful.

Rating: B

A Curious Engagement

image from here

Twelve years ago today, she said yes.  Then the pope died.  Read on for more.

On April 2, 2005, my girlfriend and I were visiting friends and family at our alma mater, Penn State.  The trip was special- it was always nice to see the place we had called home as recently as two years prior, but this time, I also planned to propose!

The plan was simple:
1. take a morning stroll through downtown
2. stop in the comic book store to pick up a new Star Wars Miniatures release
3. walk by the gazebo on west campus where we had often hung out
4. deliver an eloquent and beautiful message, finishing with ring presentation
5. welcome into my arms an ecstatic and breathless fiancee
6. enjoy an afternoon collectively lost in a romantic fog
7. meet family for dinner to enjoy a chorus of congratulations and ring adoration

Aside: why comic book store, you say?  Being quite excited, I felt a way to mask it was to talk up the new Miniatures release, and make her think my awkward behavior was due entirely to anticipation of that.  <she saw through it, of course>

My plans were dashed early on by rain.  Steps 1 & 2 happened without incident, but when we walked by the gazebo, she refused to go in.  It was raining and the gazebo was surrounded by wet grass . . . I understood.  But I pressed the matter; several attempts to get inside were rebuffed, so we kept walking.  "No big deal," I thought.  "I'll do it somewhere else.  I have plenty of time."

As the day progressed, I sought opportunities to propose.  There were none.  We went to the mall . . . the luggage section of Bon-Ton didn't seem suitable.  We went other places . . . no dice.  I started to get nervous.  We were supposed to be engaged by now, and the ring was burning in my pocket.  Plus, remember step 7?  My family knew I was proposing . . . if they didn't see a ring, they'd assume a negative response, might react poorly, and we'd probably all end up on Jerry Springer.  What was I to do?

I'm not proud of what happened next.  I managed to hide the ring in the glove compartment of my car (Gold 1 . . . long may you ride).  As we pulled into Olive Garden for lunch, I asked her to get something for me from said compartment.  She saw the ring, I stumbled through a proposal, and she said yes.  We strolled into lunch happy.  Then I explained my original plan.  My fiancee quietly reflected at first, but once back in the car . . .

"You should have made me go to the gazebo."  Of course I had tried several times, and noted as such.  Apparently, it wasn't enough.  "I would have gone if you had been persistent."  "I was persistent," I retorted.  The exchange continued in like fashion, with my fiancee claiming I could have convinced her, while I countered that her obstinance would have made that unlikely (to avoid complete discord, I don't think I worded it in quite that way).  We ended with a plan: we drove back to the gazebo and I proposed properly.  All was good . . . or so I thought.

Every woman wants a nice proposal, and I had messed up.  My fiancee, though not angry, was disappointed with my apparent inability to deliver a romantic experience (12 years later, this is still a  problem).  We continued our day as she thought on this.  Thankfully, we then learned that Pope John Paul II had just passed away.  (I was thankful for the distraction, not the event itself.)

That evening, we met my family for dinner, and all appeared well.  Then Sunday came.  The pastor opened his sermon with the following, which I can quote verbatim 12 years later for reasons that will be obvious: "If I had known how many times my proposal story would be told, I would have planned it much better."  Thanks, buddy . . . a day late on that one.

I am a blessed man.  We've been married for almost 12 years, have three wonderful (if belligerent) children, and she's more beautiful and amazing than the day we met (at least one of us is aging well).  But both of us wish we could get that day back- with same outcome, but better delivery.  It's not just what you do, folks . . . it's how you do it.  Delivery matters.  

Daddy-Daughter Dance

On Friday night, I was blessed to experience my first-ever 'daddy-daughter dance' with my 6-year-old, "Penny."  Put on by her brownie troop, I was looking forward to an evening of quality time with my little one.  Undoubtedly, it would be filled with priceless moments as we gazed at each other adoringly, shared quality conversation, and I taught her the basic ballroom dance steps.  The evening would strengthen our bond and guarantee stress-free teen years followed (much later) by her choosing a paradisiacal locale for me to spend my earthly twilight*.  This was going to be an evening to remember.

My dreams were dashed the moment we entered the ballroom**.  A professional DJ was playing upbeat, fast-paced modern dance and hip-hop tunes.  My face turned ashen as I quickly grasped what was to be expected that evening.  I was supposed exhibit suave, funky, and hip dance moves.  If you fail to understand my plight, let me be clear: I have a large amount of Germanic heritage in me.  Ingrained in my genetic code is the mandate to display little (positive) emotion and no 'funkiness' of any kind.  In the motherland, such joyful acts are considered misdemeanors.  My enthusiasm paled as my goal for the evening quickly shifted from 'enjoyment' to 'survival.'

My fears were, initially, somewhat alleviated by the appearance of other dads present.  Not only did the majority look uncomfortable in a suit, some appeared to be work-from-home programmers who had little experience wearing clothing of any kind.  The overall 'frumpiness' of the group, however, amused and distracted me for but a moment.  Then my plight returned to the fore as the DJ started a new song and commanded us to rush the dance floor.  I was thus abandoned to my fate; an undoubtedly ignominious end was forthcoming.

I focused on keeping the beat by swaying in time to the music.  I can't dance, but at least I'd show them I had rhythm, darn it.  I expertly shifted my weight from one foot to the other, at times even lifting my feet a few inches off the floor to show I could be cool and hip. My daughter, thankfully, didn't detect my deficiencies.  She did, however, demand that we get in the very center of the floor and that I spin her around.  I complied, being grateful for an opportunity, however fleeting, to drop all pretenses of dancing ability and focus on her.  But in my haste, I didn't think it all the way through.  As I spun her, the other dads cleared away.  When we stopped, I gasped as I realized that we were not only in the center of the floor, we were now the ONLY people in a 5-foot radius of the center of the floor.  And people were watching.  Oh good.  The evening was progressing nicely.

A few songs later, the DJ made us line up in two parallel lines on either side of the dance floor.  She then asked that we, one couple at a time, dance down the middle of the floor for all to see.  And guess who happened to be first in line?  That's right.  Penny and I got to show our complete lack of ability right in front of everyone.  It was around that moment, when all appeared lost, that I mercifully came to a realization: my buffoonery was not unique.  Nobody else could dance, either.  To the outsider, we all appeared to suffer from mild seizures or medical conditions prohibiting fluid movement.  In fact, the group of mothers in the back serving food were openly delighting in our collective discomfort.  Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.  Then, my daughter bolted.

Penny had spotted her friend, "Isabel," and happily scampered off with her.  Isabel's dad and I were in close pursuit, but (I think) we were both secretly relieved to be free of the aforementioned expectations.  We watched them from a few feet away as they did what (I suspect) most young girls do in such atmospheres: exhibit bizarre behavior and giggle constantly.  Just as I relaxed, though, the girls pulled us into the fray.

Isabel asked her dad to slide her between his legs, then pull her out and throw her in the air.  Penny, seeing this, demanded I do the same.  This continued for what felt like hours, the sole respite being her occasional requests to spin her in a circle, before resuming the 'slide and throw' technique.  I was exhausted, caked in sweat, and despairing of life when Penny finally took a break and got some food.  She ate about half of her selected portion, then gave me the remainder to hold until such time as she required the rest.  It was then that I realized my true role for the evening: I was to serve as both a jungle gym and personal servant, but little else.

There's not much left to say.  Things continued in such fashion until Isabel had to leave.  Penny, apparently incapable of going on without her, demanded we do the same; I was delighted to comply.

As we headed into the night, Penny thanked me for the evening.  She liked spinning and sliding, the cookies, and seeing her friends.  Though I didn't warrant a mention in the list of the evening's highlights, as I looked at my beautiful little one I realized something profound: I hope next time is a hike or something.

In all seriousness, my daughter is amazing, and I love spending time with her.  Though the evening didn't go the way I expected- or wanted- it was still time with her.  She'll move out some day, and likely forget all about this particular experience.  But I won't- public embarrassment has a way of sticking in the mind.

*never forget that your children pick your retirement home.  Ignore me at your peril.
**her elementary school's gym.

The UK vs. Germany

I lived in the UK for three years, and Germany for four.  Thus, I am aware of and extremely opinionated about life in each country, and happy to tell you how they rank relative to each other.  Below, I do just that, based on categories, being careful neither to "think too hard" nor research anything to back my claims.

History
The UK has existed in its present form for much longer than Germany.  The former's history is interesting due largely to the amount of violence, deceit, and general horror that occurred at various times in their past.  The latter is noted mostly for being the primary antagonist during two world wars.  Interestingly, if it weren't for the USA, the UK and Germany might be one country right now.
Advantage: UK

Travel
Being geographically isolated, the UK encourages its residents to get off-island by making it extremely difficult to move around on-island.  The 2-lane roads are, on average, 1.8 lanes wide (0.9 when vehicles line the streets) and 1500 years old.  To encourage vehicle damage, these narrow lanes are often lined with stone walls and feature extremely circuitous paths dotted with blind corners and summits.  Also, you have to drive on the left, or "communist," side of the road, which presents further difficulty. 

German roads, on the other hand, are made for facilitating blitzkrieg efficient travel.  The autobahns have many unlimited speed zone areas, meaning you can get anywhere fast.  The Germans observe strict lane discipline- violations are considered more severe than manslaughter.  Their location in Europe means many countries are within a few-hour drive.  Also, the Germans have the good sense to drive on the right, like everyone else.
Advantage: Germany

Weather
Do I need to elaborate?  The weather in the UK is legendary for oscillating between 'annoying' and 'dreadful,' with the occasional 'tolerable' thrown in for good measure.  In Germany, it's a tad better, and noticeably more sunny- though their lack of air conditioning makes a few weeks every summer extremely uncomfortable.
Advantage: Germany

Housing
UK homes are filled with all sorts of "charm," by which we mean "mold and questionable plumbing."  Also, the average Brit doesn't seem to care about the state of his/her place, with disrepair and indifference the typical condition of and approach to home maintenance, respectively.

German homes are stark and sound.  It may not be pretty- but it will be functional.  Germany has the advantage that most of its communities were blown away updated in the 1940s, so they had an easier time modernizing.  The main downside to German housing is obtaining the digging permit required before you can put a shovel to your lawn- necessary due to the unexploded ordnance that still dots the countryside (seriously).
Advantage: Germany

Medicine
UK medicine is totally socialized and state-run.  The National Health Service, or NHS, is very good at both treating emergencies and not treating other things until they become emergencies.  It's "free," which means it's easy to go to the doctor, who will probably tell you to wait a few weeks and see if it's worse.  The first line doctors (GPs) don't always have much training/experience- one time, as I was describing my symptoms, I watched the GP typing them into google (not joking).

Germany is a bit more similar to America.  Everyone has insurance- if you don't get it through your employer, you have to buy a state plan.  German doctors don't prescribe medicines as frequently as the doctors in the States- the general mantra is "let the body fight it off first, then get medicine if you're weak necessary."  If something's wrong (or not wrong), the Germans don't beat around the bush.  I once had shortness of breath and went to the doctor about it.  He measured my lung capacity and said "you big baby- you're capacity's higher than average.  You're fine; get out."  They're quite direct, those Germans, but I did trust them.
Advantage: Germany

Food
English food isn't as bad as the stereotypes say- the Brits have a few nice dishes, most of which have comical names (like "bubble and squeak," "bangers and mash," or "neeps and tatties").  Still, they tend towards bland- for flavor on-island, you have to seek Thai or Indian.

German food is good for those desiring early heart attacks various pig products served in ginormous portions.  Also known for their beer (served by the liter), apple strudel, and bread, you won't go hungry in Deutschland.  They also happen to serve fantastic Italian and Turkish food.
Advantage: Germany

Family
The British are quite family-friendly.  Family size seemed to average 2-3 kids.  Impressively, the locals seemed to enjoy interacting with my children, even when they (the children) were screeching, destroying priceless historical artifacts, and throwing blunt objects at endangered species.

For years, the ethnic German population has been in decline; people have 0-1 kids.  Germans prefer dogs, which are easier to train, please, and raise.  Dogs in Germany are extremely disciplined; several have obtained commercial pilot licenses.  Kids in Germany aren't seen in public until they can behave- so anyone under 25 is required by law to remain indoors.
Advantage: UK

People
Brits are friendly, prone to drunkenness, kind, possibly insane, technically incompetent, focused on the past, and fun to be around.  If I had to summarize the British in one word, it would be "polite."

Germans are direct, show little emotion, technically competent, on time, heavy drinkers, focused on the future, serious, and rigid (structured).  If I had to summarize the Germans in one word, it would be "disciplined."

Choosing which is better is hard.  If you had to personify them, the UK is that favorite distant family member with many quirks who may be insane but enormously fun; you'd hang out with them but not want them to fix your car.  The German is that extremely serious, knowledgeable professor in college you'd trust implicitly but wouldn't choose to hang out with.
Advantage: tie

Culture
Culture is a broad term; by it I mean things like movies, literature, music, social life, and the like.  The UK has an impressive list of notable authors, musicians, and other cultural icons in its corner; the Germans have next to nothing (quick: name a German author not named 'Goethe') outside of composers from centuries ago. 

Advantage: UK

Language
The UK technically speaks English, though you wouldn't know it by their spelling, accent, and pronounciation.  Trust me; Americans may not be able to understand them.  Germany, of course, speaks German, and is apparently taxed for every space they use in sentences; thus, they just mash all their words together and throw a few verbs at the end for fun.  On the plus side, almost every German speaks nearly flawless English.
Advantage: UK 

Overall

I like them both in their own way, and delight in their differences.  The above list may indicate I prefer Germany overall- honestly, I'm not sure.  German society has a structure, competence, and discipline to it that I love; the Brits have the element of fun, politeness and culture which is equally appealing.  As an American, I fit in more with the British, in that I could (sort of) understand (some of) them, but I also prefer the discipline of the Germans.  In the end, I'm extremely blessed to have experienced them both.

A History of Britain

Having lived in the UK for almost 3 years, I'm something of an expert on the history of the land.  Understanding the history of an area gives us a heightened appreciation in several respects- but most importantly, it tells us how to avoid unwittingly incurring the hatred of the local populace.  For example, if you were traveling in Turkey and introduced yourself as Kurdish or Armenian, you might get shot.  Why?  Because history would tell you that those peoples aren't on the best of terms.  Now, if you introduced yourself the same way to someone in Philadelphia, something entirely different would happen- you would still get shot, but in this case, it would be because they wanted your shoes.  I had a point; I've lost it now.  Ah, yes- history matters.  So, free of charge, I present the below overview of British history for those living in this great land.

McLean's History of the Britons

1,000 BC: The native Britons are a happy bunch, frolicking often with unicorns amidst a backdrop of rainbows, puppies, and chocolate chip cookies. 

500 BC: After a weekend of unusually excessive drinking, Prehistoric British University (PBU) students decide to build a random structure for hangouts and keggers.  They call it "Stonehenge."

~0 AD: The Romans, having a limited understanding of weather patterns, make a conscious decision to invade Britain.

~120: The Roman invasion progresses to halfway up the island.  They then encounter men wearing dresses, eating sheep lung, and playing bagpipes, an instrument which has been likened, not inaccurately, to an amplified nasal kazoo.  Exercising seldom-used discretion, the Romans call it quits and build a large wall, name it "Hadrian," and elect to keep the natives north of the wall at a healthy distance. 

~200: The Romans build the main north-south roads on the island.  This is the first and last time major roads are constructed in Britain.

~450: After centuries of rain, the Romans decide "it just isn't worth it" and abandon the island, opting to seek decent plumbing and reasonable medical care elsewhere.   The native Britons are excited, but before long . .

~500: Two street gangs, the Angles and the Saxons, invade Britain from [current] Germany/Denmark.  They challenge the native Britons, led by mythical King Arthur, to a heated game of mythical Triominoes.  The Britons lose, are banished to Wales, and are forced to use an alphabet consisting almost entirely of G's, L's, and Y's, leading to place names like Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (yes, this is a real town name).

~800: Vikings invade York.  They end up splitting rule of parts of England with the Anglo-Saxons for several centuries.  Who cares?

~850: Monarchs begin appending appropriate and/or comical names to their birthnames.  Examples include Sven Forkbeard, Robert Bluetooth, Edward the Confessor, Ethelred the Unready, Aethelfrith the Somewhat Annoying, and Walter the Ridiculously Good-Looking But Prone to Drunkenness.

1065: William the Conqueror invades England, but is turned away at Customs when they determine that his visa application was filled out incorrectly.

1066: William the Conqueror returns to England with several thousand ill-tempered, physically-imposing men, each of whom is named Norman.  Appropriately, this is called the Norman invasion. 

1150: an overweight, down-on-his-luck minstrel named Robin Hood takes up LARPing (live action role playing) in Sherwood forest.   He writes outrageous stories about himself and spreads them throughout the land in an ultimately-successful quest for fame. 

1215: The nobility forces King John to sign the Magna Carta, granting them (the nobles) greater rights, to include the right to continue shamelessly exploiting poor people.

1337-1453: Having a poor grasp of math, the Brits fight the French on and off for 116 years, but call the conflict the Hundred Years' War.

1346-1353: Black Plague strikes, killing pretty much everybody.  I'm having a difficult time trying to spin this into something heartwarming.

1455: What began as harmless fun- nobility lofting floral arrangements at each other- takes a deadly turn and escalates into the Wars of the Roses.  This war featured the powerful houses of the time: Lancaster, York, and Teleflora.

1508: Henry VIII becomes the first monarch on eHarmony.  His profile: "severely obese man with violent temper, prone to fits of inane babbling, seeks significantly younger, attractive women.  Male children a must.  No long-term relationship necessary."

1536: Henry VIII, for future tourism purposes, demands that all monasteries be converted to ruins. 

1600: Tired of bland British cooking, Queen Elizabeth I gives permission to invade India.  From her memoirs: "sometimes you just need a good curry."

1600ish: King "LeBron" James I officially unites the English and Scottish thrones.

1775-1783: The Brits lose to a bunch of poor, ill-equipped, foul-smelling Americans in the Revolutionary War.

1882: Plumbing is installed in Britain.

1883: Plumbing is updated in Britain for the last time.

1911: Titanic is built.  It's billed the ship that God couldn't sink.

1912: Titanic sinks.  Leonardo Di Caprio fans are heartbroken.

1913: Cars are mass-produced for the first time.  The average British car is 2.1 meters wide; the average British lane, 1.8 meters.

1914-18: WWI.  Germany invades the rest of Europe; Britain relies heavily on America for help.

1939-45: WWII.  See previous post.

1948: Realizing that a large portion of the population could not afford health care, the National Health Service (NHS) is created.  Now, regardless of economic standing, anyone can go to the doctor, for free, and be told to "give it a few weeks and see if it won't heal on its own."

1950: Britain comes in dead last at the Modern and Sound Plumbing championships, losing by a wide margin to every major country and several species of moderately-organized amphibians.

2014: An amateur blogger attempts to summarize Britain's history, but gets tired and decides to skip the last 65 years or so.

London

London, looking west from the top of St. Paul's

What began well ended with me carrying my daughter's vomit through the city . . . but more on that later.  Today's post recaps our recent trip to London.  Though we've lived in the UK for 2.5 years, this was our first trip to London since residing here.  We saw the town in 2006, before kids, and hit the highlights sufficiently then.  Seven years later, we returned with my mom, and had the following ambitious trip goals:
1) don't get mugged
2) find a way to get the kids to sleep through the night
3) don't lose the children (accidentally)
4) see something

Let's see how this turned out then.

Day 1

We opted to take the train down to London.  Our main fear on any public transportation is that the children will take the opportunity to riot and/or practice shrieking.  Thankfully, this time the ride was uneventful.  Arriving in the evening, we had time for only one thing;  we opted for Madame Tussauds Wax Museum.  Yes, it's expensive, touristy, and a bit cheesy, but it was actually rather nice to see.  My 'take-away' from it was that some famous people are rather short.

Patrick Stewart . . . he looks good even in wax.

 What came after the wax was highly anticipated- dinner at Chipotle.  London has a few of them, and we enjoyed our meal there.  Not quite the same as the ones in the States, but close enough. We couldn't help but notice that Chipotle was on Baker Street- the street where the fictional Sherlock Holmes lived.  We found the museum set up to celebrate him, as expected, at 221B Baker Street.  What we didn't expect was that 221B was wedged between 231 and 235 Baker Street.  Whatever.

Holmes!

After dinner, we went immediately to our hotel.  Nearby was a Sainsbury's Local- a small hybrid grocery/convenience store that was to prove invaluable (you'll see why in a moment).  The hotel was nice enough (meaning it was clean and had a working bathroom), and my daughter was overjoyed- the separate bedroom had bunk beds.  She slept on the top and, more importantly, slept through the night, as did our son, who slept in a travel crib at the foot of our bed.  Things were looking good indeed.

Day 2

The main unknowns in traveling are the weather and the kids.  One or the other can affect your plans in a big way.  With both in surprisingly good shape, we set off at 9am.  Our first destination was St. Paul's Cathedral.  I missed this last time- it was quite nice, though I spent most of the time shushing the children, who, sensing the peaceful atmosphere, elected to have a race in the south transept and squeal in delight at inopportune moments.

St. Paul's

St. Paul's

After St. Paul's, I hit Starbucks for my standard hot chocolate.  I mention this only because there are (apparently) 57,000 Starbucks in London, all within a square mile.  Seriously; there were times where they were located every 50-100 yards.  But I digress.

From St. Paul's, we walked to the Tower of London.  From the Tower, one gets a nice view of the Tower Bridge (often mistaken for the London Bridge).

The Tower Bridge

The Tower of London is great, and the kids got a chance to run around a bit.  You can spend hours there; I think we spent two.  The Tower is fun because it's generally associated with death, imprisonment, and torture; topics we all enjoy.

The White Tower

The Beauchamp Tower, where prisoners were kept (and inscribed impressive graffiti on the walls)

Henry VIII and his wives, most of whom he killed . . . and now you can hang them all on your Christmas tree

 My son, Luke, is obsessed with buttons at the moment- so you can imagine his delight when they had a voting kiosk of sorts in the Bloody Chamber (where the Princes in the Tower were kept), where you get to vote on who you thought killed the little dudes.  Sadly, my son, not understanding the concept of one vote only, voted about 150 times.  Thankfully, he gave each option about 50 tries, so I think the results were relatively unaffected.

Casting his vote . . . over and over and over

It was in the Tower that my daughter had to 'go potty.'  I took her, assuming adequate facilities were available.  The first men's room I tried had urinals only; the next was closed for repair.  Sensing emergency and doing what only experienced parents can do without blushing, I marched immediately into the women's room and assisted her in there.  It happens, people.  Deal with it.

After the Tower, the kids hit their threshold, so we headed back to rest in the hotel.  My daughter was done for the moment, but my son seemed in keen spirits, so he and I, along with my mom, went out again to Westminster Abbey.  I like the abbey, mainly because it has lots of famous dead people.  I particularly enjoyed the tombs of monarchs, and poet's corner.  It takes about 45 minutes to stroll around satisfactorily.  On the way home, we passed Big Ben and Parliament- great buildings.  Though we had the Oyster card for underground travel, we opted to walk- easily done, and more scenic.

Big Ben & Parliament

Westminster Abbey (well, part of it)

Double-Decker with Big B in the background

Dinner that day was Pizza Express.  This is where the fun started.  Both kids started nuclear meltdowns, and after a few outbursts, I started to get the starer.  Perhaps you parents know what I mean- that one guy who keeps looking at your table, murdering you with his eyes, every time the kids act up.  We do our best to control the kids, but modern child protection laws mean our hands are tied in certain respects.  In the end, we all left, the kids screaming, after half-eaten meals.  We were sad, but didn't realize something worse was coming.

Day 3

"Mommy, I don't feel well."  My daughter's first words of the day summarized it nicely.  She puked.  And then again.  And then again.  etc. etc. etc.  My wife wasn't well off either, experiencing a bout of the "Hershey Squirts," as those of use raised in PA say.  (As an aside, I think we went through 6 rolls of toilet paper that day.  SIX ROLLS).  Not knowing quite what to do, we eventually agreed that Beth and Natalie would remain at the hotel while three of us (me, Luke, and my mom, Verna) went out on the town, checking back frequently. 

It's at this point that I must digress briefly to highlight again the importance of the nearby Sainsbury's Local.  Not only was it our standard breakfast stop (croissants . . .mmmm), it was also our go-to for the emergency we were about to encounter.  Toilet paper.  Water.  Bread.  Anything else the situation demanded.  I ended up going there so frequently- sometimes, more than once an hour- that I was concerned that the staff was considering a restraining order.  Good thing it was open 24 hours . . . there are advantages to city life. 

Back to relevance.* After the sick ones were as comfortable as they were going to get, those remaining went out.  First up was Churchill War Rooms.  A great stop; highly recommend for history/WWII buffs.  We took 45 minutes to get through it all.  We were moving at a good clip, though, as my son was ornery, attempting to set off a fire extinguisher, and at one point trying to open up a water access point for a fire hose.  Fun times.

Is that middle guy supposed to be W?

Poster seen near the exit.  I couldn't agree more.

After the War Rooms, we strolled through St. James' Park, where my son expressed his delight at the nearby Pelicans by pointing to them and saying "buh," then laughing, about 100 times.  We walked on to Buckingham Palace, where we got to see guards in comical hats marching around. 

The birds that so enamored my son

Buckingham Palace

Man in funny hat

On the walk home, we passed through the South Bank Christmas Market.  For the unfamiliar, Christmas markets are where vendors come to set up stalls and sell kitsch, or 'junk', at obscene prices.  The food, however, is extremely good, and more than makes up for the rest of it. 

The food is good . . . the merchandise, not so much

Now it's dinner time.  What do we do?  The girls were still "poorly," as the Brits say, and the prior night's experience had further eroded our confidence.  We ended up spreading out a towel on our hotel floor, and sat on it eating shredded cheese, bread, and bananas- staples in my son's eyes.  Interestingly, we enjoyed this meal much more than we expected.  Maybe there's something to keeping it simple.

That night, Natalie had settled to the point where we thought she'd be okay, so Beth and I went out to see the Lion King musical (my review).   We found out the next morning that a nearby theatre had its roof collapse the very same night.  That was far from our mind, though, for as we returned to the room, we checked in on our daughter.  She (thankfully) had been fine while we were out, but the minute we got back, she started barfing again.  I did my best to avoid drawing conclusions from that.

Day 4

And now we reach the pinnacle of the journey.  Natalie's illness lasted throughout the night, and in the wee hours, her vomit took on a bright green hue.  Calling the NHS help line, we got a doctor's appointment for her at 7:20am at St. Pancras.  We were staying near Waterloo Train Station, so that meant a 40 minute journey up to the northern part of the city.  We decided that I should take her to the appointment; we had to check out of our hotel that morning, so my wife would pack up in the meantime.  

As I escorted my daughter through the hotel lobby, she kvetched again.  Now, I was prepared- I had a barf bag on me- and I caught everything.  Here's where the problem begins: I didn't have another bag.  I didn't want to risk throwing my only one away, so that left me one choice: I would carry her now-used barf bag with me to the doctor.  Not ideal, but what do you do?  So off we set, daddy carrying Natalie's vomit.

I was extremely worried about those on the underground getting an unexpected (and unwelcome) dose of Nat, but mercifully, my fears were unfounded- she didn't hurl the entire journey there.  When we arrived at King's Cross underground station, I noted that we were already late for our appointment.  Hailing the nearest taxi, I asked for directions to St. Pancras' hospital.  In keeping with my belief that Brits don't want to make money, the cabbie refused to take us, saying "it's just down the way."  Very well; I'd walk.

I found out that "just down the way" meant 0.7 miles.  Now, that's easy to do on my own.  But my daughter was tired, and so I carried all 45 lbs of her in one hand; her barf in the other.  That made 0.7 miles seem very long indeed.  We arrived about 20 minutes late, but they saw us anyway.

The doctor was a kindly Indian man with a wonderful bedside manner and horrible breath.  After doing some routine checks, he indicated that a urine sample was necessary.  That's fine; we can do this.  I took Nat to the bathroom and placed the small collection jar under her.  This was when my lack of knowledge of certain female functions became apparent.  I had assumed, never making a point of learning this for certain, that women peed "down" into the toilet.  Imagine my surprise when Nat peed "out" at me, hitting my hand instead of the jar.  I reacted appropriately, moving the jar to catch a sufficient amount.  Still, now I was covered in pee, while my daughter's barf stayed loyally by my side.  This day was getting better and better.

Returning to the doctor, a few quick tests indicated that my little girl would be fine; she had a 24-hour bug is all.  The doctor visit seemed to have a psychosomatic effect on her, if nothing else; afterwards, she felt fine, and her spirits noticeably improved.  The doctor told me that she should be carried, for a time, to avoid undue burden on her; so back I trekked to the station, with her in one arm, and barf in the other.

An uneventful journey back to the hotel, followed by some juice, made Natalie feel much better, and so off we went to "Winter Wonderland" in Hyde Park; our last stop before our journey home.  It was a Christmas market on steroids, featuring some of the biggest "temporary" rides I'd ever seen, and more kitsch than you could handle.  It was also extremely expensive.  Rides cost £2-3 each . . . yowza.  Still, it was a nice way to end the day.  Nat continued to recover, to the point that she even rode some of the more bland rides.  Amazing what a Winter Wonderland can do.

One entrance

How long did this take to set up, I wonder?

mmm. . . Viking blood

the festive atmosphere

After the Wonderland, it was time to take the train home.  We thought we were out of the woods . . . but not quite.

Our train home was precisely planned; we were to arrive back in our home town at 5pm- dinner time for the kiddos.  On the train from London to Leeds, though, we couldn't help but notice we were going rather slowly.  The train was losing power, and so we had to switch at Doncaster.  We ended up losing over an hour.  That's not bad for adults, but for kids, it can (and did) get ugly.  We had to eat fast food garbage in Leeds, and then continued on home with screaming children.  We must be so popular.  At last, we arrived safe, but exhausted.

When I walked in the door, I asked Natalie what she enjoyed the most.  Do you know what she said?  The bunk beds.  Just goes to show you- doesn't take much to impress the little ones.  I think we can all learn something from that.  There is joy in small things . . . though I'd rather not pay exorbitant London room rates to experience them. 

In conclusion, we enjoyed our time in London, though it wasn't without stress.  Interestingly, do you know what I enjoyed most?  Taking my daughter (and her barf) to the doctor.  Yes, it was gross, and hard, and horrible.  But she's my little girl, and I'll do anything in my power to protect, help, and heal her.  Parenting isn't always fun, but it's in those hard times that you really get what love is.  I love you, little one . . . but don't ever pee on me again.

*Well, sort of.

South Wales

Castles beyond counting.  Beautiful coastline.  Bizarre local behavior.  Tank exercises.  There's no end to the mystery when traveling through southern Wales, which my friend and I did over a 3-day blitz vacation.  Read on, intrepid explorer, if you wish to know more.

The Flag of Wales

A Bit of Background

History
The Welsh are the descendants of the original "Britons"- the people who inhabited the island before the Roman era.  When the Romans came, they eventually pushed the locals into (what is now) Wales.  Then the Anglo-Saxons came, and did the same thing.  Then the Normans came, and conquered them more fully.  Then the Plantagenets, who built a bunch of castles in Wales to suppress the populace.  You get the idea.  Basically, the Welsh have been repeatedly destroyed in every encounter they've ever had with anybody.  Like most easily-vanquished nations, the Welsh simply love talking about this, so make sure you bring it up often in conversation.  Phrases like "How about those English?  They know how to conquer people," or "seriously- have any of you ever been successful at anything?" are bound to be conversation starters with the natives.

Language
Due to severe and hysterical clerical errors in Medieval times, the ancient Welsh language passed down throughout the years is an amusing compilation of unintelligible sounds and hilarious spelling failures.  Examples shown in the graphic below.  Don't bother trying to speak it.

Riiiiighht . . . .

Our Trip

My friend and I set off on Friday at 6am from Yorkshire, excited to have a "man-trip."  It's not that we don't love our families; it's just nice to drive somewhere without having to stop every 20 minutes for potty breaks and accident triage.  Thus unencumbered, we had an ambitious itinerary:
Day 1: Drive down/see as much as possible in SW Wales
Day 2: finish SW Wales/drive to SE Wales, stopping for sights of interest
Day 3: See remaining things in SE Wales/drive back

"Sights of interest" in southern Wales are predominantly ruined castles, ruined abbeys, and ruined churches.  (Remember, the Welsh didn't do so well in the victory department . . . ever).  There is also the beautiful Pembrokeshire coast, accessible primarily by driving through a tank training ground (seriously; more on this in a moment).  So, our plans consisted of hitting as many ruined things, and coastline, as we could.  A more detailed report follows.

Day 1
The drive down was uneventful; it's over 300 miles, though, from Yorkshire to SW Wales, so we didn't arrive at our first destination until about 1pm.  The first day, we saw (from west to east):

- St. David's Cathedral
Situated about as far south and west as you can go in Wales, St. David's is really old, and cool.  The cathedral was built on a mild incline, so you're going uphill as you walk towards the altar; the columns are noticeably bowed out due to the weight of the previous roof.  The current roof is a wonderful wood design.  Rating: A

St. David's

The ceiling

- Pembrokeshire Coast
Outstanding coastline awaits you in Pembrokeshire- if you can get to it.  The two best sights in this area, the Green Bridge of Wales (in the "Stack Rocks" area) and St. Govan's Chapel, must be accessed by driving through a tank training ground, which may or may not be open to the public on a given time or day.  Thankfully, we were able to see both, but our initial attempt to see the Green Bridge was halted until tank operations were done for the day.
Rating: A+

View below St. Govan's

St. Govan's Chapel

St. Govan's from above

Our initial attempt to access Stack Rocks was thwarted by tanks.  Yes, tanks.

Stack Rocks

The green bridge of Wales

- Manorbier Castle
An okay castle in beautiful surrounds.
Rating: C

Manorbier Castle

The view from the top of Manorbier

- After Touring
After seeing the above, we attempted to find dinner.  We tried a number of local establishments, each with questionable properties.  One (shown in the following pics) featured a parking lot with (apparently) no rules, as well as a menu dictated by funeral arrangements- whatever that meant (I must confess, I found it quite unnerving that the only dishes served, due to the funeral, were those that featured ground meat).  Another location boasted a hygiene rating of 3/5, implying significant progress.  We also skipped that one.  We finally settled on McDonald's, which (unbeknownst to us until entering) featured the entire population of the town (7500) within its walls (occupancy 35).

We have parking rules for a reason

This really freaked me out

Day 2
We finished up SW Wales and headed east.  In SW Wales, we began with:
- Pembroke Castle
Big, adequate.
Rating: B-

Pembroke Castle

- Shopping
I've met an impressive number of store owners in the UK who apparently aren't in the business of making money.  I had another such experience in Pembroke.  I walked into a store, and saw a product of interest behind the counter.  The owner was present, but absorbed in a computer game- really absorbed.  I got his attention- clearly annoying him- and asked to see the product.  He made several remarks poo-pooing it, but eventually (and reluctantly) handed it to me.  I said I'd take it; he proceeded to ring it up, clearly thinking me a fool for doing business with him.  I agreed.

- Carew Castle
Small, cool.  Bats only in certain sections, by mandate.
Rating: B+

Carew

Bats only.  BATS ONLY!

Carew

On the drive east, we hit:

- Caerphilly Castle
Cool moat. Tower falling over- also cool. 
Rating: B

Caerphilly

Caerphilly

Castles are dangerous.  I hit my head 3 times that day. 

- Castell Coch
Victorian reconstruction.
Rating: C

Castell Coch.  It's aight.

- Welsh Zombie Bar
Too scared to go in.

Mmmm . . . Brains.

- Raglan Castle
I liked it.
Rating: A

Raglan

Love it!

- After Touring
We set out in search of dinner, somewhat nervous from our experience of the prior evening.  The B&B owner recommended a "homey" pub located a 20 minute walk away, past a Church and through a sheep field.  Upon reaching said pub, we walked into a chilli cook-off.  They kindly offered us some, but we declined and sought out a more conventional fare- which we found after another 20 minute walk.  Convenience is an American concept.  The food was good, though, so we couldn't complain.

Church on the way to dinner

After dinner, we retired to a hotel that was built (and last cleaned in) the 1700s.  It was terrifying.  The settling of the house over the centuries made for awkward angles to complement the already-small doorways.  The toilet listed 20 degrees to the left, and its flush was not unlike an aircraft gaining altitude.  Questioning both its symmetry and integrity, I chose to "hold it."

Day 3
Tintern Abbey (Rating: A) and Chepstow Castle (Rating: B-) finished our Welsh experience.  On the ride home, we swung by Gloucester Cathedral (Rating: B) to check out the tombs of King Edward II, some other guy (son of William the Conqueror), and the cloister they used to film several Harry Potter movies.

Tintern

Tintern

Tintern

I liked Tintern

Chepstow

Chepstow

Gloucester

Edward II

Some other guy

Cloister

Maps, by Day
The physical locations of the sites shown above are as listed below.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Final Thoughts
Though I was at times weirded out or downright terrified, I enjoyed the trip and would never say no to a return journey.  The coast in SW Wales is beautiful, and castle lovers will have no end of enjoyment.  If you're not a castle or coast lover, be prepared to be bored.

Area Rating: A